


upon this bank and shoal of time

by ghostofgatsby



Series: I'd kill for you. I'd die for you. I'd live for you. [3]
Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Death, Drowning, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Fae manipulation, Fighting, Majestic Horse Smith, Murder, Underwater Sex, Urban Magic Yogs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-19 06:50:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7350367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostofgatsby/pseuds/ghostofgatsby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They laugh as they dart between the lamplight and the shadows and dance around lampposts. Once at the river, they kick off their shoes. The moonlight shines across the surface of the water.<br/>Smith walks backwards into the river. “Come on, to shake the summer heat from our skin.” He beckons.<br/>“It isn’t as warm out as it was at high noon. Won’t it be too cold?” she questions.<br/>“We can warm up.” He smirks and reaches out for her. “<em>Come in with me</em>.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	upon this bank and shoal of time

**Author's Note:**

> “upon this bank and shoal of time”  
> Macbeth Act 1, scene 7, 1–7  
> http://www.enotes.com/shakespeare-quotes/all-end-all
> 
> http://irlnilesy.tumblr.com/post/142236510922/sunflower-mama-blooming-alive-in-the-most-pure  
> The night. The stars. The river.
> 
> http://irlnilesy.tumblr.com/post/142439465492  
> "You shouldn't be promoting murder."  
> "We all have our flaws."  
> GC/Smith
> 
> http://milsae.tumblr.com/post/133504683602/moon-waltz  
> old fae balls by the riverside of yore
> 
> I think this is Sailor Moon art? but after I saw it, I quite liked the idea about Smith whisking away hapless mortals for the last night they'll ever see.
> 
> cw: death, drowning, fae manipulation, fighting, violence (mention of crunching bones/trampling to death)  
> If I need to tag something else, let me know.
> 
> reblog: https://ghostofgatsby13.wordpress.com/2016/06/30/upon-this-bank-and-shoal-of-time-ghostofgatsby

Their laughter echoes down the streets. They dance hand in hand and walk arm in arm. She’s giddy and buzzed from the drinks. She feels happier than she’s ever been.

Smith takes her hand and spins her around in a slow twirl.

“Let's go down to the river,” he says, swaying her back and forth in his arms as if they were still dancing at the ball.

“The river? At this time of night?” she asks.

Her red hair is as bright as burning leaves. It’s done up into a bun atop her head, and it’s a vibrant contrast with her emerald ballgown.

It’s what drew him to her tonight.

“The moonlight looks so ethereal over the water, and you’d look even more divine beneath it,” he answers with his lips on her neck.

She tosses her head back and laughs. “You’re a wild one, aren't you?” Not every man wants to go to the river at this time of night. But not all look at her like he does.

“Wild as the river.” He spins her again, her back to his front, one hand on her hip.

She looks over her shoulder at him, catching his grin as white as the moon.

“Come with me,” he murmurs in her ear, “Wouldn’t you like to?”

She turns in his arms, and he pulls her tighter against him. She sighs when his lips meet hers.

His kiss is like the finest, darkest wine and she’s absolutely drunk on him. It feels like heaven and it feels like sin.

“Yes. Please,” she pleads. She’s fascinated with the man who’s enraptured her attention. He’s so sweet and charming. She’d do anything he asked of her in a heartbeat.

He looks at her like she’s his entire world, and no one’s ever looked at her before, the way he does.

Smith pulls back and smiles again, so sweet and so sure. He takes her hand, and leads her to the riverside.

They laugh as they dart between the lamplight and the shadows and dance around lampposts. Once at the river, they kick off their shoes. The moonlight shines across the surface of the water.

Smith walks backwards into the river. “Come on, to shake the summer heat from our skin.” He beckons.

“It isn’t as warm out as it was at high noon. Won’t it be too cold?” she questions.

“We can warm up.” He smirks and reaches out for her. “ _Come in with me_.”

She lets him take her hands and pull her slowly into the water. The shock of the cold makes her gasp. She hikes her skirts up and laughs. “Perhaps we should have shed some clothes before we got in.”

Smith chuckles and touches the hummingbird brooch on her dress. His green eyes stare into hers. “You look beautiful like this,” he whispers.

She smiles bashfully and kisses him, throwing her arms around his neck.

His hands push up under her dress. He mouths down her neck and nips her collarbones.

She shivers as he pulls the wet tights and underwear down off her legs. His hands caress her skin. It feels hot like an open flame, in contrast to the chill of the water. No one’s ever touched her like he does.

“You’re amazing,” she whispers.  
Smith chuckles. His fingers slip inside her. She moans wantonly as they curl in all the right ways. His lips are at her neck, and she doesn’t care if he’s leaving a mark. She wants him to. She wants him to have all of her.

He withdraws his fingers, kissing her deeply. She lets out a girlish shriek into his mouth when he picks her up.  
Smith laughs against her throat.  
She wraps her legs around his waist, leaning into his embrace and kissing him. He moves further back into the river. The current laps past her knees.

“Are you ready?” he asks, breaking the kiss to stare into her eyes. His eyes are such a vivid green, and dark with arousal.

“Please, yes. Smith...oh...”

He enters her slowly. It’s better than she’s ever felt before. He’s so warm. He holds her closely, gently, shifting her up as he thrusts inside her.

“ _Oh_...” she gasps. Her hands cling to his shoulders.

Smith kisses her. Pleasure sings in her blood. Her entire being feels alight with it.

He pulls her under the water.

Through the haze of ecstasy, she stares back at him. Her lips part as breath leaves her body, air driven from her lungs with every thrust. Strands of hair come loose from her bun and float around her face.

Smith’s grin looks sharper in the dim light beneath the water. One hand grips her hard, his nails like claws digging into the flesh of her thigh.

It should hurt, but she feels nothing but pleasure. A little death, how poetic.

She feels him reach his peak before she does, shuddering beneath her. His fingers trace her parted lips. They draw a line down her throat before dipping beneath her dress again.

Her chest jerks as she gasps water into her lungs. Numbness spreads from her head to her toes. The remaining breath leaves her lungs and her climax strikes through. Her vision is consumed in bright flashes.

She sees his darkened eyes in the light of the water, and then everything fades away.

 

Smith lets her body go limp in his arms. He pets the back of her head as it falls to his chest, and easy removes himself from her lifeless embrace. The moonlight shimmers above him. He swims up to break the surface.

Smith treads water, staring down at the way her dress blends into the riverbed. A glimmer of something catches his attention. He dives down momentarily to pluck the brooch from the river bottom, and rubs the mud off the green and red jewels.

 _Something to remember you by_ , he thinks with a dark, wry smirk.

Smith wades out of the river and clips the brooch onto the lapel of his jacket, collecting his shoes on the way.

 

A week later, Smith whistles an old tune as he leaves a local bar. He fishes around for a cigarette in his pocket in the light over the bar entrance, but someone follows him out.

“So it was you.”

He turns.

A man stands there, with fiery red hair and an angry glare.

“Excuse me?” Smith glances down at the man’s stained apron and the iron pipe clutched in his fist.

“It was you,” The man stalks forward, and Smith moves backward into the empty street.

“It was you, you bastard!” The man snarls. He lunges for Smith, and Smith knocks him back, shielding his face with an arm. Not for the first time, he’s glad for the leather jacket he wears.

“What are you talking about-” He stammers back.

“My sister! That's her brooch you’re wearing! I'll kill you!”

The man yells and swings the pipe wildly.

Smith ducks shy of it coming down on his shoulder, shielding his face and moving backwards.

The pipe comes down again. and he knocks it aside, but then the iron glances off his hip where a strip of skin lied bare. It burns.

“What are you doing-” he protests, hissing through his teeth.  He jumps away from the next wild swing and backs away. Smith looks wildly around him for an exit. But out of the shadows of the small village street, several other men lurk.

The man with the pipe has brought friends, and they’re surrounding the alleyways. His exit is blocked.

“I know what you are. You're a monster. I'll have you killed for the crime you’ve committed.”

The others start to block him in. Smith can feel the hairs rising on the back of his neck.

_Dammit._

“Listen, this is a misunderstanding-” Smith tries to placate him, pointing to the brooch. “I found this in a pawn shop-”

“Don’t you dare lie to me, you fae fuck. we found her body drowned in the river!”

Smith shakes his head. The scorch on his hip burns like hot coals. “The current should have-”

“Swept her away? With the drought we’ve been having, it only put her back ashore!”

Smith grinds his teeth.

“I've heard of your kind. I've heard the stories.” The man continues.

“ _You're_ the last of _your_ kind to believe them, then.”

“And you're a fool for killing.”

Smith barks a laugh. “You really think so? _Fuck_ you.”

“I'll make you pay for this.” The man swears.

They circle each other, slowly, surrounded by the man’s friends.

_Keep him talking._

_The minute you see a break in their fold, run for it._

“You have no right,” Smith disagrees, “You cannot pass judgment on me; you are no kin of mine.”

“You damned kelpie, I’ll fucking kill you for what you’ve done! You owe me your life for taking hers!”

Smith scoffs. "What do you know of me? Not enough to understand. You hold no magic in you.”

The man snarls, “You drowned my sister in the river! What else is there to comprehend? There will be a death tonight! I’ll have it!”

Smith shakes his head no and widens his stance. _Fucking mortals._

“I drowned her- that much is true,” he says, arms shaking with the desire to punch this fool’s face in, “But you hold no more of a sway over me than the river does the fish.” The words are formal to solidify the binding of the debt, and the agreement of it being paid by the life of another. But only Smith can choose who pays, not the man who calls it his. “She went willingly into the water. Her death is mine and mine alone, and I alone hold that debt. I owe you _nothing_ for the things I choose to do." Smith snaps.

“Regardless, you killed her- and her brooch is on your jacket-” The man stammers.

Smith rips the brooch from his lapel and throws it to the ground in front of the man’s feet. “Does that _satisfy_ you? Or would you rather I take your life as my payment?” he asks angrily.

“You...you’re making a mistake.”

Smith laughs. A growling, rumbling sound emanates from his throat. His form shudders, and clothes tear. Black shadows rise up his legs. His muscles shift placement. Hooves replace feet. Greenish water drips from Smith’s form as he shifts into a horse. The river’s fury is in his eyes.

“No... _you’re_ making the mistake here, mortal...not I.”

The man stares up in terror as the horse towers over him. His iron pipe clatters to the ground. The friends he brought scatter, horrified at the sight of the dark, shadowy beast before them.

Smith rears back, whinnying with the sound of screams. His hooves strike out at the man until the screams fall silent, and the only sound in the streets is the crunch of bone and the shattering of the crystals in the brooch.

Smith gallops away, following the river away from the scene and the men that will no doubt chase after him if he stayed. He runs until the city is only a speck in the horizon, and then he shifts back, panting. His bridle jangles against his chest as he leans over with his hands on his knees.

His clothes are gone. He has to hide for awhile, and be more careful now. All because of a damned brooch and rainless weather.

Smith kicks the water, wincing when the resultant splash hits the burn on his hip. He pokes at it with a finger and hisses at the pain it provokes.

Smith sighs, and runs a hand through his hair. He stares up at the coming sunrise and wades out of the river.

**Author's Note:**

> mortals cannot really place debts onto fae, or hold them  
> debts need magic to be binding  
> fae -> human, works  
> human -> fae, does not work  
> fae magical human, works  
> fae fae, works  
> more magic, more powerful the debt that can be made, the higher the cost for the debt to be paid  
> the brother cannot hold a debt over Smith because  
> his sister went willingly  
> and it's one body they found  
> and he's not magical in any way, and neither was she  
> furthermore, he really doesn't have much evidence, other than "you have her brooch"  
> magical debts are always wanting to be paid. it's like there's an unbalance in the world, and the scale will always want to tip back to being even.
> 
>  
> 
> [ [random selection of information about the city] ](https://ghostofgatsby13.wordpress.com/2016/06/30/urban-magic-yogs-the-city)
> 
>  
> 
> [ [a few questions about the series overall] ](https://ghostofgatsby13.wordpress.com/2016/06/30/status-8)


End file.
